


The Women

by merfemme



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 14:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merfemme/pseuds/merfemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The maid stood, perching herself quietly at the vanity and murmured, 'I don’t understand why it has to be like this.' Her blue eyes, so often wide and glimmering with amusement like Irene’s, were glossed with thin tears."</p><p>Kate is tired of being one of Irene's secrets and can't keep quiet about it any longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Women

“Kate? Come and lie down with me.”  
  
The ginger, a serious woman with an alto voice and a quick wit, came to her mistress’ queen bed as ordered. Her black tie was seized and threaded in reverse; her starched blouse and skirt were stripped away. Her mistress wrapped a dangerously manicured hand around the curve of her hip, and pulled.   
  
In bed together with her maid, Irene Adler gave Kate a fierce, sweet-tasting kiss before speaking. Conversation was a chore indeed, to her, until one or both of them was aching. A throbbing in the lips, the bloody red lips, would have to do for the moment, improper as it was to fuck before the day had been laid out like fresh linens.  
  
“Let’s talk, Kate, darling. Tell me what we’re doing today.” She squeezed Kate’s slender and pale hand expectantly. The talk was always good, but the wait for it was hell for a woman as relentless as Irene. Her still-adapting servant had somehow developed a mind that worked much better with a whip in hand. She did have the best of teachers, and had learnt with admirable quickness how to communicate with mere gesture and intimation. And with ball gags and riding crops, naturally. An arched eyebrow and a lock of coppery-fine hair wrapped around the ear were, often, better confessions of Kate’s feelings than her refined words. Her joy was clearest too when channeled in the domme’s domain (no matter the role she played).  
  
“I made tea, Miss Adler.” And then, there were those times when, like now, her obedience poorly covered sadness. She was still new and untrained; Irene saw far more of such unhappiness and reticence than she wanted to.  
  
Nevertheless, Irene smiled insouciantly. Kate whimpered as The Woman grabbed her breast, rubbing her nipple just rough enough for that beautiful lust to well up. But, it was too harsh for the moment and too cavalier. Kate cried out and swatted a hand at her employer. Her lover, in fact, who gave a miffed glare as their flesh rang with contact. “What is it, Kate?”  
  
The maid stood, perching herself quietly at the vanity and murmured, “I don’t understand why it has to be like this.” Her blue eyes, so often wide and glimmering with amusement like Irene’s, were glossed with thin tears.  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“You always hide me, Irene Adler! Always.” She sucked in a wretched breath and continued, “You never take me out as your girlfriend. I’m always ‘just the maid,’ planning your life out and having nothing of my own. When you hired me, you said I would be your lover and your maid. Not only your maid. I thought I meant more to you than this, Irene.”  
  
Kate fixed her so-called lover with a savage stare, more a challenge to comfort her than an attempt to flaunt her misery. If anything, she was as fierce as Irene Adler. She was no docile miss, although her shy adjustment to Irene’s lifestyle suggested otherwise, and she could rarely remain silent about anything unjust in her life. Irene slowly, sinuously lifted herself from the down paradise of her bed. Steps slow and rather cowed, she approached Kate and extended her milky-pale arms.  
  
By the time Irene spoke, the women had spent close on half an hour entwined, with Irene’s lips pressed gently on Kate’s freckled and flushed cheek. A pleasant heat still undulated between them, flowing along something like the taut cord between Jane and Mr. Rochester. It softened Kate into a drowsy peace, and she didn’t stir as Irene started explaining.  
  
“Darling,” she began, “I only want to stay each other’s forever, and that can’t happen if anyone knows what you are to me. They would kill you to get to me, Kate, if they knew that you are more to me than hired help. They--” A pause, and she resumed in an entirely foreign voice--coarse, flat, and drawling as every letter got its due. It was the perfectly American speech of a woman born and bred in New Jersey. Kate gasped quickly, and silenced at Irene’s hurt face. “You ought to know all of me, I suppose, even if it’s truly American. I’m British now because a few classified secrets bungled things up for me in America. It’s almost cute how they forget about a woman if only her voice and looks are a bit different.”  
  
Kate’s voice was still somewhat stony as Irene gave a wry smile. But, she squeezed the dominatrix’s hand and urged her to continue.   
  
“I have such secrets that the Americans will come after me one day. As will the British and practically everyone of importance. When they come after those secrets, I’ll only get ahead by beating them--” she chuckled “--for more secrets. They’ll kill you if it will save their asses, Kate. I have to ensure that they can’t.”  
  
Irene Adler tipped Kate’s face up to hers, and caught the girl’s lips in her vividly scarlet ones. Such need had never flowed from Irene’s body before, not such uncorrupted and devoted need as this. Kate caught every bit of it as she sucked at her girlfriend’s plump lips. Arms clutched, hips twisted, fingers wound around necks and waists in a frantic display. Kate was crying when they split at the breast. Her hands rested on Irene’s hips as she exhorted again.  
  
“Kate?” And she nodded. She would listen, since she was starting to understand the reason for their privacy and their detachment. “I need you to try, Kate.”  
  
“I will, Irene.” She tossed her hair, and it seemed to be aflame as the late-morning sunlight caught each gentle curl. She thrust her small, round nose in the air and gave her bravest smile. She would try, and she would do one better: she would succeed.  
  
\-----  
  
Irene had the sweet privilege of watching her lover transform over the weeks following their conversation. She’d sweep downstairs after making clients shriek with her sadism, all perfumed grace and insistent sexuality, to find Kate swathed in flour and sugar and holding a stained copy of _The Joy of Cooking_ . Especially during Irene’s longer sessions, Kate used her spare time to tread far beyond the unknown with her cooking and housekeeping; the dishes she served for their dinners were becoming richer and more complex, and their Belgravian home was more often than not fragrant with arranged flowers. She served her mistress Masala chai fresh from the stovetop and tucked aromatic sachets between pressed sheets. True, her hair was frequently tied up in a hasty knot, tresses dangling like flames licking down her broad back. Her cheeks were often ruddy and sweat-covered, and her nose felt the impact of sputtering oil or baking accidents.  
  
Kate was not naturally gifted at the domestic skills Irene expected her to have, but she was a quick study and a perfectionist. The work soon came easier, and she didn’t have to devote entire days to tidying up or preparing dinner. Irene now took her to social engagements and introduced her as “my personal assistant, Kate.” Initially, the maid had dipped her head with diffidence and blushed; now, she stood tall and extended her hand gracefully to those she met, sometimes blessing them with a cocky smile. As her spirit revived, Irene took notice. She treated Kate to quiet nights at home, rubbing her back with strong, dexterous hands and sauntering about with tea trays and simple food. Especially with the restorative calm of such nights, Irene and Kate bloomed with each other.  
  
And then came Christmas. Irene had spent the day traipsing from one party to the next, playing with the fabulously wealthy and making them believe she cared. Kate was not invited to such parties, elite as they were, and had spent her time hanging decorations. She was settled into the sofa with a cup of tea when Irene came home. Her mistress waved her away when she offered to take her coat. Instead, she emerged from the fur hood herself, glittering like the crown jewels and beaming.  
  
“I have a present for you, Kate,” she remarked with an outstretched hand. Kate took it with a skeptical look. What was a present when she could now have anything in the world?  
  
They took the staircase as one. Irene moved with powerful, measured steps while Kate walked quietly, pensive. Gradually, she became aware that Irene was chattering at her and words were dripping from that seductive red mouth in its native accent. Irene put a key to her bedroom door and waved Kate inside; there were all of her nighttime things laid next to Irene’s: her pyjamas folded on a gilded chair, her hairbrush with a new mate, their perfume bottles heady and shining next to each other. And there was her favourite pillow, tucked into the side of the bed which Irene never touched, the side she preferred for herself.  
  
“Irene?”  
  
“Kate, I‘m sorry. You’ve been working so hard to please me, and this is my gift.” The corners of her mouth tightened nervously, and she touched Kate’s face with one hand. One shaking hand. Her brilliantly blue eyes pleaded for strength, and she repeated, “This is my gift. I give you all of myself, Kate _Adler_ .”  
  
She lunged at Irene, then, scooping her up in strong, working-class arms and kissing her face with joyful cries. It was bliss. At last, she was wanted and, more than that, she was cherished. She buried her face in Irene’s hair, brunette waves smelling of honey and spice, the crook of her neck giving off the suggestion of sweat. They were _The Women_ now, although most would die without ever knowing it. But, Kate couldn’t care less. She inhaled her lover’s scents deeply, lungs filling with familiarity but not even close to satisfied.  
  
There was a ball of need in her gut, now. She hardly cared about the civil partnership certificate, crowned and signed, on the vanity behind her; she wanted Irene’s body surrounding hers, within and on top of her. Kate murmured, “Can we, please?”  
  
“Yes, darling?” Irene was breathing deeply, almost panting.  
  
“I’d like to make love, if you want to, Irene.”   
  
“Please, Kate. I want nothing more.” They stripped impatiently, piling rolled stockings and slippery dresses on the floor. When nothing covered them but their bras, they climbed into bed and Irene mounted Kate. Her thighs were unexpectedly full and plump against her maid’s hips, and she rocked purposefully while Kate removed her bra. Her small breasts bounced from the confining garment, and she saw Kate lean forward to catch a hard, pink nipple in her teeth. Irene threw her head back and growled, a guttural noise that was choked off before it left her mouth. She squeezed her other breast, rolling against the velvety softness of Kate’s sex, covered in ginger curls and damp with her own arousal.  
  
“Kate,” she panted. “Kate, _please_ , touch me.” Irene bucked into her, gushing freshly onto her thighs and their sheets when Kate pressed one graceful finger on her erect clit. Her moans were so animal for a rich girl, Kate thought, slipping two fingers between Irene’s lips and tapping at her entrance. She swiftly dragged her fingers back, up, and Irene cried out. The Woman was begging, as Kate became aware of what she was screaming. It was difficult to focus with Irene’s nails digging into her freckle-covered upper arms and her lips finding purchase on the contours of her breast.  
  
Even so, she just barely discerned pleading in her mistress’ heaving cries. “ _Kate, Kate, make me come! Now!_ ” Irene’s hips arched and rapidly thrust against her, their curls scratching together with Irene’s need. The delighted ginger tossed her dominatrix into the sheets; as her eyes widened, Kate dipped between Irene’s legs and languorously probed with her tongue. Irene gasped and fisted her hands in Kate’s sweaty hair, so she sucked tenderly at the sweet, salty juices there.   
  
When she stretched Irene’s entrance with her tongue, lightly, Irene writhed from fingers to toes; Kate introduced her tongue fully, and began an insistent, inexorable rhythm with her nose against Irene’s clit. It was almost too much sensation, but Irene urged her on. She traced along one of Irene’s labia as she continued nuzzling her lover’s clit and licking at the spongy muscles inside her. On a whim, she curled her tongue upward, flattening it against the rough patch inside Irene; it had her whining her pleasure through clenched teeth. When Irene came at last, it was with a savage grunt and a buck that made Kate’s jaw ache. She sucked Irene through the puissant handful of pulses.  
  
Kate nestled into Irene’s side as the latter closed her eyes and breathed gently. The orgasm had been more powerful than any she’d ever allowed herself; she’d refused sex with Kate before, too afraid to make herself so vulnerable. But now, she was American again and as good as married. She knew what the registrar liked, of course, and so their civil partnership would never appear in public records. Irene Adler was still safe, still protected, and wanted only to be sensitive now. How could vulnerability and tenderness hurt in such a cocoon as hers?  
  
As they lay comfortably embracing, Kate shucked off the top coverlet with her feet. They burrowed like bunnies into their delicate, luxurious sheets and Irene tucked a hand between Kate’s thighs with an affable smirk. She brought Kate off tranquilly as they yawned, and her orgasm was like a gentle pinch before falling asleep.  
  
Irene awoke with Kate’s fiery hair streaming across her chest, her head tucked in just as it had been when she drifted off. She traced her fingers along the contours of Kate’s face: her thick and golden eyebrows, her slightly suntanned and very freckled cheeks, the strong curve of her jaw, and the lushness of her salmon-pink lips. The sunlight dappled her face through the lace curtains.  
  
Irene kissed her and whispered, “Good morning, Kate Adler.”


End file.
